Resitance is Futile
by Protege-moi
Summary: Written with Archetype Factor. Shi'ar and Xmen and Borg, oh my! XOver of Xmen and Star Trek TNG. We hope you enjoy. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Forward:

This story is definitely a cross over, but in more ways than are obvious at first glance.

We thought it best, as authors, to explain to the reader what they are about in the form of a forward, rather than have the reader scratch his/her head in confusion.

Thinking it would be a neat concept, we have decided to combine the Shi'ar and the world of _Vampire: The Masquerade_ together. EI: The houses of Shi'ar nobility are all representative of the Vampire Clans. For those of you who know White Wolf, we hope you enjoy, and remember that we have taken many liberties, as it is our fic. For those of you unfamiliar with White Wolf, we hope that we will do a good job as authors to explain the nuances through storytelling. There are many resources online, though, and we will be open to emails, should there be any questions that need answering should they come up for the reader.

So, anything you find in the story that can be associate to White Wolf obviously is not our own. Yes, they own the Copyright.

Same goes for anything Marvel.

And…of course, the universe of Trek is not our own, and we take no credit for it. We just hope we can do the characters some justice in our writing of them.

We hope you enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Lt. Commander Data looked at the bleeping lights on the personal console of the Captain's chair on the bridge. It was his turn to do the graveyard shift. Rather than being not too thrilled about it as many would be, he was rather indifferent to it. It made no difference to him whether he defrag and do self maintenance at this hour, or another. He was impervious to the human need to sleep according to a circadian rhythm. Plus, he was happy to do it, as the crew was taking their most recent post to patrol their territory in the furthest reaches of their Federation as a chance to rest their weary minds. But Data's ability to rest unaffected by circadian rhythms wasn't the issue at hand.

"Commander, there is a general incoming communiqué originating from an unknown vessel in the Vergana System."

Data processed the information over in his computerized brain. The Vergana system was 2 hours away at maximum warp. "Put it through," he instructed the Ensign at the communications station, trying not to let his contemplation escape in his tone.

An android he might be, but ever since he had the emotion chip installed, he found it difficult to keep some of the emotions he was experiencing from coming out in his speech. He envied Picard for his ability to keep neutral tones in his speech when commanding. Mind you, Data told himself, Picard had much more experience with said activity.

Data watched; his interest peaked. There was a visual portion to the message which the Ensign brought to the viewing screen. The image in front of him was nothing he'd seen before. The back drop of the scene was unmistakably a bridge. The layout of such seemed to be rather universal regardless of the species. But the technology and architecture of the design was completely foreign to him. He searched his internal processing data bank for any file that resembled what was in front of him. Milliseconds passed, and his search was complete rendering nothing. Knowing his search perimeter would have to be widened, Data focused his attention on the face that was delivering the message.

Again, his data bank had no file matching the visage of the alien he was studying. There was no mistaking that the individual was of the feminine sex of her species with the angles and shape of her face, the lines of her neck. There was some kind of tattoo or birthmark that graced the corners of her eyes, and those lines were soft and gentle. Still, Data had no information stored in his positronic brain that was compatible with such marks. And then, there was the unmistakable bust indicative of female. Of course, Data could recall some species that were unisex, and some in which the females were hard to differentiate from the males, but that was beside the point.

He refocused on the face that was staring at him. She had a very graceful jaw line and a cheek bone structure that most would associate with royalty. A top her head, in the place of hair was a crest of darkly colored feathers. She was covered with silver colored armor that seemed to move with her instead of hinder her like one would expect from any type of metal armor. Her eyes were white, reminding him somewhat of the pupil and iris-less eyes of his friend Geordi. However, the alien's eyes, although lacking the definition of iris and pupil, seemed fixed on some visual stimulus on the alien ship before they turned to face the screen. Even though Data knew she had no idea who she would be speaking to, her eyes seemed to burn at him with some sort of intensity.

"Uck talen mal treninin merek la'al sus'ni'on!" Her voice seemed insistent, pleading, but rather calm, although neither the Enterprise's computer nor Data recognized the language. However, there was no mistaking that this was a distress call, as the bridge crew of the Enterprise all cringed when the unmistakable images of a console exploding filled the bridge of the alien ship, sending bodies across the deck followed by screams of agony and surprise.

The message from the female alien continued, and thought its words were not at all understood, the message in it was clear. They needed help.

"Ensign Moran, how old is that distress call?" Data queried.

Moran tapped some keys on the console in front of him and furrowed his brow. Data was not sure why concentrating made humans contort their faces so, but it was an action he mimicked well before he gained access to emotions. "Sir, the signal is approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes old."

Data nodded at the Ensign and tapped his communicator on his chest. "Data to Captain Picard."

The blip-blip sound of the communicator being activated on the other end sounded and Picard's voice followed. "Picard, here. What is it, Commander Data?"

"Permission to alter our course to the Vergana System to answer a distress call of an unknown alien vessel?" He questioned.

"Permission granted," the Captain's voice chimed through. "However, due to the unknown nature of our callers, let's approach the situation with caution, Data. Proceed at maximum warp, but raise us to yellow alert."

Data did not have to tell the security officer to make the necessary arrangements as the lights on the side paneling of the deck pulsed with a yellow glow. He knew that the senior members of the Enterprise crew would be arriving on the bridge, shortly. So much for their rest, Data thought to himself.

Then he left instructions with the communications officer to send a response, letting the alien ship know there was help on the way.

* * *

Several light years away, lying on a burning bridge of a Shi'ar Imperial Cruiser, Gambit's consciousness started to slip, a blackness starting to overtake his mind. _Stay awake, homme_. He instructed himself.

He desperately thought about the distress call Lilandra had sent out hours ago. No one had answered, so far. Why? Surely her Empire would come running to the aide of their Majestrix. What the hell was taking them so long?

And then, the fog of the darkness that started to overtake him was interrupted by a sound bringing Remy hope. "This is the Federation Starship Enterprise. We have received your request for aide, and are in a course to rendezvous."

His heart skipped a beat, and somehow his body managed to find some extra adrenaline to combat his urge to faint. The words were in English. Using his new found energy reserve, Gambit put all of his effort into dragging himself to his feet to get to the communications array. He needed to get an established communication with this ship, let them know their hail had been received.

His hand grasped the console, and he used it as leverage to pull himself up, but the console was fuzzy. Rather, his vision was blurry and blurring even more. Behind him, he heard Lilandra yelling. Through his spatial awareness, he could sense one of these beings that had boarded the ship nearing Lilandra.

Distracted from his original intention of sending off a communiqué, Gambit turned to face what was now a hand to hand combat between Lilandra and the enemy. He cringed as he heard the snap of a bone. Mustering up any ounce of strength he had left, he picked up some debris that was lying in amplitude across the deck floor. Now he had a weapon.

He hit the attacker squarely on the head from behind. Nothing. _Merde alors!!_ What did it take? Any firepower they put at these guys was only effective for so long, before they adapted to it, and hand to hand combat seemed useless. They were strong.

Gambit took another swing at the creature, using the piece of debris as if it were some kind of sword. At least this time, the attacker became distracted from his original target and was now focused on Remy.

And then it spoke in some horribly empty voice. "Resistance is futile."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Beverly Crusher took a moment to survey her sick bay. Four hours ago it was practically empty. She had seen minor abrasions from holodeck programs gone too far, broken bones from Worf's Klingon Mok'bara training. They were simple complains that were easily treated. She, until recent events, had had two patients needing overnight care.

She sighed and leaned her head back to rest on the wall the rest of her body was using for support. Who would have thought that a quiet patrol would have turned into this? It was supposed to be rest and relaxation time, after a grueling tour of duty around the Neutral Zone. It had come as a bit of a shock when she noticed the yellow alert, and even more so when she arrived at the Observation lounge to be briefed. Commander Data had arranged for the original distress call to be played on the screen in the lounge. The scene was ominous, and Beverly could only cringe as the scene unfolded to reveal one of the Federation's biggest threats. Although no one understood the words of the recording, the general gist of it was fairly obvious to everyone.

From their long range sensor report, the alien vessel looked to be about three quarters of the size of the Enterprise. However, the crew had no way of knowing how many people were aboard the ship, as the Enterprise's sensors were unable to determine an accurate count. They had guessed for about 750 occupants.

So, their game plan had been to set up triage stations around the ship, using many of the cargo bays as make-shift clinics for minor injuries. Any of the seriously wounded would be sent straight to sick bay to receive intensive care. The Enterprise was prepared for mass casualties.

When they arrived at the distress signal's coordinates, what they found was devastating. As harrowing as the image that was displayed on the bridge's main viewer, it was also mightily impressive. The bridge crew became witness to the aftermath of a huge firefight between one of the larger Borg Cubes and the unknown vessel that had sent the hail. Sensor scans indicated that the Borg ship had been rendered completely adrift, its life support system destroyed. All Borg aboard the ship were now dead. The alien ship, however, still had minimal life support, but had sustained heavy damage. The firepower this race would have had to have possessed to cause this kind of result made Beverly shudder. To defeat the Borg and be the only ones with survivors was not a feat many accomplished.

Their time in the area, though, they knew would be limited, as the Borg would be coming to salvage what they could of their destroyed vessel. Added to the fact was the Away team searching for survivors had very little time. The Enterprise's sensors had picked up on a hull breach in the unknown vessel. Their mission was to go in, get as many survivors as possible, hopefully find the ships logs if they could decipher enough of the language, and get out. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, there were only 30 individuals to rescue from the ship. The rest had not been so lucky.

The sight of the exploding ship was seen from the window in Beverly's sick bay. Because of the vacuum of space, there was no sound to the explosion, just the brightness. She shuddered at the memory and brought herself out of her reverie. Scanning her sick bay, she looked at the bodies they were able to save before the ship exploded. To her surprise, seven humans had been aboard. Had there been any more upon that vessel? Two of them, however, were receiving critical care for their wounds. The other five had been treated easily and were enjoying the comforts of the Enterprise.

She checked their vital screens and wondered at the DNA analysis - mutants. They'd mostly died out by the year 2100. Of those that had survived the genetic engineering, and the third world war, they hadn't been able to reproduce. When the last of them died, their kind died with them. Genetic manipulation had taken mutation out of the species in view of it being too dangerous. They knew better now. Genetic manipulation to this degree was illegal as well was cloning. That meant that these were natural mutations. Had some escaped the planet and encountered this alien species?

And then there was this new alien race. Humanoid in some ways - double every critical organ save the brain. It reminded her of many species she studied at the Academy. It wasn't too hard to help them. But what she couldn't understand was the anemia. The synthesized blood products weren't working as well as they should and this concerned her greatly. As a result her patients were weaker and not getting better. Obviously this was going to be a problem soon.

Her assistants kept close check on them and security was outside her door. They really didn't know what they were dealing with... except Jean-Luc guessed royalty. They would be treated like such like any guest aboard their vessel - especially the chance to make first contact with a new race. Jean-Luc lived for this sort of thing.

She was shaken out of her thoughts when one of the alien species began to flat line...

Minutes later, the man died. A tear of frustration ran down her cheek as she banged her fist against the wall. Why wasn't anything working??


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Beverly paced nervously in the turbolift. She found herself tapping the data pad she had in her one hand against the palm of the other in anticipation. If only she could prevent people from getting on and off the turbolift, that would be all for the better. They were only slowing her down, and she was late for the debriefing for the senior staff in the Observation lounge. Mind you, as far as excuses went, she did have a fairly valid one. This anemia issue was rearing its ugly head in her sick bay, and a man just died!

Finally, the doors to the turbolift opened to the deck she needed to be on! She sped walked her way to the lounge, taking her seat as quickly as possible. Of course, she hadn't gone unnoticed. All eyes of the senior staff were now focused on her.

"Sorry, I'm late," she offered. "I had a medical emergency to deal with. Please, don't let me hold you up." She knew that they were waiting for her, regardless of her plea, but it still had to be made.

"Not to worry, Dr. Crusher," Picard started. "We know you have your hands full down there."

At least she had a thoughtful captain. She could think of a few commanding officers that she'd served under in Starfleet that would be less accepting of such an excuse.

"Very well," the Captain continued. "I believe the question on all of our minds is 'who are these people?'" He grinned. This was one of the parts of his job he loved the most – contact with new species. "As is evident from the past few hours, the Federation, nor any of its allies, has any prior knowledge of this race.

"What we do know, however, is that they seem to have quite a formidable fire power capability. Geordi, I'd like you to go over what you found out about our visitors' ship from our sensor scans before it was destroyed."

Geordi nodded. "Of course captain." He touched a few buttons on the computer pad near his chair. The screen at the head of the table lit up with the blueprints of the ship. "This is what our computer was able to surmise from our sensor data. What you see here is an approximation of the layout. It seems to be fairly standard, as far as star ships go. Their bridge, like any other, is at the topmost deck of the ship." He paused to get up, so that he could point at various parts of the screen.

"Here, we have what appears to be a fairly extensive medical facility, though it's not very large. Our own sickbay can house and treat more patients than this one.

"They also have what appears to be holographic technology," he moved his hand to another portion of the layout. "It looks like our version of a holodeck, though the way they've built it is quite unlike anything I've seen before." The members of the senior staff could see Geordi's glee in discovering a new engineering masterpiece. No doubt, the Enterprise would be getting a few modifications here and there in an effort to mimic some of the better qualities of what Geordi was showing them. But then he changed the topic again.

"It appears that this race has been space faring for quite some time, perhaps longer than the Vulcans. Their technology is much more advanced than anything I've come across.

"Now, here's the truly amazing part! This here is their engineering section. I've never seen anything like this in my life! Like us, they do use antimatter technology for warp potential, plus your basic energy thrusters. However, their hull is protected both by an antimatter containment field, but also, the material that cases the hull is adamantium."

Beverly noticed the raised eyebrow this observation brought to Data's face, but it was Picard that spoke. "Adamantium?" it was typical of Picard to start of his question by repeating whatever was last said before proceeding with the rest of the question. "If I'm not mistaken, Commander LaForge, was adamantium not abandoned as a resource due to its nature? I recall it was very hard to work with. I don't believe any one has used adamantium for centuries."

"You are correct, Captain." Geordi responded. "I must admit, I myself was quite surprised to see this portion of the sensor reading. I don't know how they would have been able to handle the adamantium to get it to mold to the shape…and that much of it. It's…incredible."

Ricker spoke up. "Geordi, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't adamantium indestructible after it's solidified?"

"You're right, Commander."

"Then how could they have had a hull breach?"

"Truth is, Ricker," Geordi shook his head. "I don't know."

Picard ventured, "Any theories, Data?"

Data cocked his head, as he always did when he processed information. His eyes mimicking a reading motion over and over. "None that are really substantiate, or very plausible, Captain.

"However, if the warp core breach generated enough heat, it would have melted the adamantium into its liquid form, but such temperatures are rarely ever attainable. One usually has to find it in its natural liquid form in order to do anything with it.

"The other possibility – so far, adamantium has not remained impervious to lasers. Should it have been subject to a strong enough and hot enough laser, the hull would have been able to find a leak, if you will, to escape through, thus resulting in what we witness.

"That brings me to the point, however, that if the adamantium hull did succumb to a laser, the laser would have had to be pointed at it for a rather large period of time, and not from a random hit from any weaponry the Borg have accessible to them, which…"

"Thank you, Data, that's enough." Picard cut him off. It always amazed Beverly at how easily it came to him. Mind you, he was in his role as Captain, and he had the prerogative to do so. Usually, though, she had to say "Data!" a few times over to get him to stop topping.

Regardless, Data's mouth stopped moving mid-word, frozen open for a second. There was a small gasp sound, as if he were about to say something else, and then he closed his mouth, now silent, except for the, "Sorry, Sir."

"So, what you're getting at, Data," Ricker proposed, "Is that there would have probably needed to be somebody doing that from the inside?"

"Keep in mind, Commander Ricker, that these are only theories. We have nothing, no evidence, to prove either of these theories, as the ship no longer exists." Geordi piped in.

"Right," Ricker acknowledged Geordi's logic. He let that settle on the room, and then he moved them to the next topic that needed discussing.

"Next on our list, though, is the question of how humans got on board. Any ideas?"

Before anyone could respond, Picard swiveled his chair.

"I think it would be best if we asked the source, Number One. So I have asked them to join us so that they may answer a few of our questions." There were unanimous nods of agreement from the senior staff. "But before we ask them in here, I'd like to hear Dr. Crusher's report on our guests." He extended his hand, inviting Beverly to the 'floor.'

Beverly swallowed. "From what I can gather, their species is descended from avian ancestry. Their bone density and structure suggests as much. Also, their bodies house a redundancy of each organ, except the brain. It's truly remarkable. I know the Klingons have multiples of some of their organs, but not all. Other than that, they appear to be rather humanoid. I'd assume they have the same nutritional needs as we do, and obviously, they are accustomed to an atmosphere much like ours.

"What has me baffled, though, is this anemia they've seemed to develop."

"Anemia?" The question was from Troi, who, until this point, had remained silent. It wasn't too unusual for her. She usually just chose to listen.

Regardless, Beverly answered her question. "Yes. Some of them did lose a lot of blood volume through their injuries, which would explain a source for the anemia. Normally, transfusion with synthesized blood product brings the counts up. But in their case it's not helping, and I can't find any logical reason as to why it's not.

"However, even more strange is the fact that these aliens who presented with less severe injuries that I was keeping under observation, who had no evidence of anemia, have now developed it! I am truly at a loss."

"Data, any theories?" Picard asked.

The android frowned. Data shook his head. "It might have had something to do with their air filtration. But again, I have not had the opportunity to scan the medical scanner reports of this race."

"And the two humans in your sick bay, Doctor?" It was Jean-Luc asking.

Beverly raised an eyebrow. It was an expression Jean-Luc knew that would soon be followed by an 'I have an incredibly interesting bit of information surrounding that which is going to surprise you' piece of information.

"Well, Jean-Luc, our humans aren't just human. They're mutants."

"Mutants?" the question this time came from Worf.

"Yes, mutants," Beverly repeated, giving the room an echo atmosphere. "But to my knowledge, mutants were genetically engineered out of Earth's gene pool just before the advent of World War Three.

"But to answer your question, Captain, one is stable, but I'm keeping him sedated, just to be on the safe side. The other had rather severe injuries. It looks as if he went to hand to hand combat with a Borg, maybe more than one. He had massive internal bleeding, and a very severe concussion. Also, I can't seem to get his blood count up, either. It's rather uncanny, but he's expressing the same symptoms as the aliens are with regards to this anemia phenomenon. Regardless, I would be surprised, actually, if he were to ever wake up.

"I have some true mysteries in my sick bay right now."

And how the crew of the Enterprise loved mysteries! In fact, it was a pastime that many of them participated in through the form of holodeck programs tailored to classics like Sherlock Holmes.

It was Riker who addressed the next mystery. "Shall we bring the mutants in, then?"

Picard nodded in agreement, "I think we should." At that point, two security officers escorted three people into the lounge. Two women and one man ventured over to the table to take a seat. All of them looked particularly exhausted. However, it looked as though they had had the chance to clean up, and have their minor injuries attended to by the medical crew.

After they were seated, Picard greeted them. "Thank you, for coming. And welcome aboard the Enterprise."

"Thank you, Captain," a woman of African descent said. Her countenance was rather aristocratic, her body tall and lean. Picard would have pegged her for a beautiful queen, except for the fact that her hair was white. Not grey – white. He'd never seen the likes of such before. Perhaps it was a part of her mutation? He vaguely remembered reading in history books that mutations could be physical or some sort of will controlled power or both.

Picard introduced his senior staff to them, and they, in kind, introduced themselves. The lady with the white hair called herself Ororo Munroe. The other woman's name was Jean Grey, and the man introduced himself as Robert Drake.

With formalities out of the way, Picard started, "Let's get down to business, shall we?" He started. "I know you're very tired, so I won't dally too long with why we've asked you here.

"None of us have ever encountered these friends of yours, never had any experience with their race, nor do we have any information about their species.

Naturally, we are curious to know how you came to be with them, especially since Earth and Starfleet Command have no knowledge of them, either."

The three of them looked at each other, as if having some kind of unheard conversation between them, deciding what they were going to tell them.

It was the lady named Jean that spoke. "I do not believe we belong to your reality."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Remy's head was pounding as he woke up. He turned his neck, so as to reposition his head, which seemed to do little good. There was a moan that the X-man knew escaped his lips, though he didn't seem to have any control over the voiced sound. The bed underneath him wasn't the most comfortable, but it sure beat Hank's slabs of what he jokingly referred to as pieces of the Canadian Shield. But it didn't feel like a hospital bed, either.

The mutant opened his unique eyes to determine his surroundings, but the flash of pain that ensued caused him to shut them quickly. He cursed his highly light sensitive eyes and winced as the pain added further assault to his already throbbing head.

Instead, the X-man known as Gambit used his other senses to try and gage some bearings. However, the voices around him seemed to be muted, distant. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to the concussion he was sure he sustained, or drugs. There was, though, quite a commotion going on in some other part of whatever facility he was in. Regardless, Remy couldn't make out anything that they were saying, or what language they were speaking to give him some clue as to where he was. Panic and frustration flooded Remy, as his empathy started to recover from the unconscious state he was just in, picking up the emotional states of those around him.

And then the wave of nausea slammed Remy as his kinesthetic sense also came 'back on line." Whatever vessel they were on was moving at such a fast speed, that Remy's power could do little to orientate him self. At least he could say for certain that they were still in space. They'd been rescued.

He breathed in sharply, one thought coming to the forefront of his concern: Lilandra. He opened his eyes, squinting to shield as much light as he could from his eyes. Trying to sit up, Remy loathed discovering that there was a restraining device over his chest and abdomen. Had they been taken prisoner?

The dome that covered him seemed to light up and make alert noises, perhaps informing his captors that he was awake. It had harsh angles to it, and definitely was not an aesthetically pleasing piece of technology. The mutant tried to see if he could move his arms enough to place his hands on the restraining device. If he could just figure out what it was made of, he'd be able to determine if he could charge it safely.

Struggling, Remy let out a sigh of frustration. He could not easily move his hands except to lay them on his stomach. He felt bandages on his torso, indicative of a wound underneath. It was odd, but Remy didn't remember, no, he hadn't paid attention to any wounds he obtained during the battle. The possibility never occurred to the war hardened mutant that he had been that injured.

Remy furrowed his brow, concentrating. He'd never tried this before, at least not to this extent, but he honed in on his kinesthetic sense. The effect was overwhelming and the disorientation that ensued threatened to completely overcome anything the X-man was trying to do. It was difficult not to get lost in the movement of thousands of bodies all around the vessel, all moving at different times, and extremely hard not to be swept into the motion of the ship going so fast, ripping through space. He clenched his teeth together. Remy had to get to Lilandra, make sure she was safe; he had to overcome this nasty side effect of his power.

He reached out with it, trying to force it to focus on his immediate surroundings, sensing the objects around him until finally it settled on the barrier on top of him. Straining, Remy pushed his power further than ever before, as he tried to use it to pinpoint the nature of the kinetic energy atop of him. A bead of blood sweat rolled down Remy's forehead as he found the effort to be a rather large strain on his weary body. But at last, Remy's senses were able to tell him that a simple metal alloy lay on top of him.

Aha! A childlike excitement and pride in his accomplishment washed over him, giving Remy a new source of reserve. It was exhilarating. Never before had Remy used his power like this, never did he think it was possible. He smiled to himself.

Now came the next bit.

Remy tried to imagine a connecting force between his kinesthetic sense and his perception of the molecules in the metal. He tried to send the charge through this invisible connection he hoped he had created. Remy had no idea if this was going to work or not, but if he could just excite the metal so that it got hot enough at the sides, he could push it off of him. Nothing really needed to be exploded.

Heat that started radiating to his arms, telling Remy that he was succeeding. The force holding his body down was no longer there, and Remy pushed up on the barrier as the electronics of it made a fizzling sound, and Remy assumed that any computerized function of the device was now disabled.

Unfortunately, Remy realized after the fact that this barrier was no barrier at all. It was most likely a medical device that was keeping any pain at bay. However, that pain was now hitting his body like a 10 tone truck.

Cursing his ignorance, Remy gave up on his attempts to push whatever kind of machine it was off of him, and embraced the blanket of unconsciousness that enveloped him once again.

* * *

In her peripheral vision, Beverly Crusher noticed movement at one of the critical care beds. The mutant occupying the bed seemed to be struggling, but why? And then Beverly noticed the sides of the stabilizer unit start to glow at the sides. Her eyes widened at the implications. Her knowledge of science could tell her that the metal was hot, and as it was heating at the bases, would be unable to support any weight. The chances it was going collapse on the man very soon were quite good. What ever could be causing this? Was there some kind of overheating going on in the circuitry? Surely the computer would have alerted her far before now? Perhaps the circuitry pathways that would do so had been destroyed by the heat, already, explaining why there was no alert. Or, Beverly thought to herself, was the unit being heated by the mutant?

And then she saw his body relax, and go limp. Rushing forward, Beverly opened her tricorder, trying to get a sense for his vitals, as the stabilizer unit had been rendered completely useless.

Beverly watched the mutant wreak the instrumentation holding his pain in check. She was torn between instantly knocking him out again and hoping he spoke English. Like any good doctor, she wanted to try the 'talk' factor first.

Running over to the man, she looked at him with pity. He was probably in agony from all of his efforts. "Sir, we need to get on top of your pain again. Do you understand me? This unit above you is…" She was talking to an unconscious man. DAMN!

She ordered her people to get another instrument and not long after, they had him hooked up again.

But what was this on his forehead... blood? She wiped it off with a cloth seeing no wound. Where had it come from.

Across the room, the warning signals went off again. Out of the 30 people they rescued, 3 had flat lined on them for no apparent reason. And she had to leave the unconscious mutant there because there were more people worse off than he was.

Anemia... they had started off okay... and then declined. What the hell was happening??!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Hank walked the hall, heading towards the Sick Bay of this remarkable star ship. He had been so entranced, marveling over the splendor of her, the engineering side of things, and just taking pride in the fact that eventually, Earth did become space faring. It had lifted his mood rather well, considering he had two friends that were severely wounded in the attack sustained on the Shi'ar Cruiser. Hank had been lucky; he had gotten away with minor broken bones and minor fleshy wounds. His amazement was kindled at the technology Earth had developed in the field of medicine, and he was quite relieved to know that there was now a simple way of healing nagging injuries.

He frowned a little when he realized that without this technology the gravity of his compatriots' wounds would have been fatal. Gambit and Cyclops both had sustained life threatening injuries during the assault. Out of the seven X-men on the mission, the only two that had been on the bridge at the time the attack was launched were Remy and Scott. The bridge, by far, had been the hardest hit, both by the firefight from the enemy ship and the boarding party it sent aboard.

The Shi'ar that had been on the bridge also sustained heavy casualties. There were 30 survivors out of a crew of 573 including the X-men. Out of the 566 Shi'ar, only 23 lived long enough for their distress call to be answered. Even then, for whatever unknown reason, the medical team aboard this ship was struggling to keep them stable. It was a situation that brought a fair bit of confusion for Hank, as he knew the avian race had a remarkable ability to bounce back from injury. But Lilandra was still alive, and her vitals were strong. Even though she seemed to be suffering the same strange anemia phenomenon the Shi'ar had developed, hers was not as profound, and she was regaining her strength more and more each day. Mind you, it had only been two days.

His thoughts turned to his friends again, and worry found its way to the blue doctor's brow. Scott was alert, and aware of his surroundings, but was still in critical condition. At least alert, Hank's fellow original X-man would know that he needed to fight for his recovery. However, Gambit had yet to regain consciousness. His injuries had been much more severe than Scott's, and there was the ever real medical possibility that Remy may never wake up. It was in this instant that Dr. McCoy found himself putting whatever reserve of faith he had into the advanced medical technology aboard this ship. Though he did not fully know the scope of its abilities, Hank clung onto the hope that it could do something for Gambit.

He didn't know why he felt that way, either. And it wasn't the Hippocratic Oath he believed in so much, or his care giving nature that was responsible for this worry. No, the Beast realized that in his time with the X-men, Remy had earned a spot in his heart, and the concern he felt was for a friend, not for a patient. Nevertheless, Hank knew his history better than Dr. Crusher, and he felt that he should go and detail her on Remy's medical history to aide her in ameliorating Remy's condition.

The doors to the Sick Bay made a swishing sound as they opened. Despite being on a Shi'ar ship for many weeks, Hank was still always startled when the doors opened because they sensed his motion. He'd been physically opening and closing doors all his life, except in his med lab at the X-Manor. Hank was suddenly struck, dumbfounded, as he discovered a quirk...How long had he been exposed to automatic doors and he still wasn't used to them?

He crossed the threshold to the Sick Bay, horrified to find absolute chaos and panic. Fear gripped Hank's stomach as he immediately noted two beds with the sheets drawn over their patients' heads. Even on this advanced star ship, sheets in that position still signified that the people beneath them were dead.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in Hank's throat, he scanned more of the room, praying that the two departed were not his fellow X-Men.

However, Dr. McCoy's senses switched into Emergency Room/Soldier gear. Despite the pang in his heart of not knowing if his friends were alive or not, lives were in danger, and he had the know-how to do something to help them. His keen observation alerted him that a Shi'ar was crashing on a bed very near them. He could tell it was not Lilandra, but one of her prized generals.

They'd managed to bring his heart back to an atrial fibrillation, but Hank knew that even the Shi'ar needed that corrected sooner than later.

"Dr. Crusher," he called out. "I'm a medical doctor! I can help you!"

Beast's eyes widened behind his wire glasses. He had been studying Shi'ar physiology with Cerebro, recently, in case any emergencies should show up from the Shi'ar. With their border war with the Cree ever so near Earth, it was a distinct possibility that the X-Manor, having the only fully equipped Shi'ar medical facility in that area of the universe, could receive critically wounded.

She'd been transfusing them with synthetic blood. As much as that would be okay for humans, such was not the case for Shi'ar. Hank had not yet gotten to the why part with Cerebro, but he knew enough to know that for some reason, their bodies did not recognize synthetic blood, rendering them unable to use it.

He quickly blurted this information off to Dr. Crusher in medical-ese short hand. Time was of the essence now, and he dearly hoped that this Sick Bay had a reserve of the real thing.

Hank did a quick count around the room. Out of the 21 Shi'ar, well, almost 21 Shi'ar that were stable, about half of them were only marginally anemic. He'd have to ask Cerebro about this tendency to anemia when they got back. However, it was a relief to know that they didn't have to address 21 Shi'ar with transfusions immediately. Registering Dr. Crusher's orders to pull the blood bank reserve out of stasis, Hank relaxed a little. There was real blood for them.

The Beast stopped in his tracks, however, as a rather unexpected sight started to unfold before him. Those Shi'ar who were well enough, including the Majestrix herself, got out of their beds and used what little strength they had to help the medical staff divvy out the blood supply. However, instead of letting the Crew staff take over, the Shi'ar simply took the bags of stored blood themselves to their fellow comrades. Hank really didn't expect them to know how to set up an IV, yet alone a transfusion, and his suspicions were confirmed when, to his horror, the Shi'ar started ripping open the bags.

No longer was the blood usable. It was no longer sterile. But as Hank's jaw dropped to the floor at the progress of the scene, he concluded that perhaps it was not necessary for sterility, anymore. He watched the Shi'ar, completely dumbfounded, as they poured the blood down their mates' throats, forcing them to drink it.

* * *

Dr. Crusher stared with wide eyes, much like the blue monster of a man that had come in moments before claiming to be a doctor. Had she ever read something like this before? She racked her brain for an answer. But now wasn't the time. The blood did seem helping her alien patients... Their vitals were stabilizing quite rapidly. What she couldn't figure out, though, was how their vitals could be normalizing and their anemia dissipating with just drinking the blood! Surely it needed to be digested first and go through some kind of absorption process. Normally, metabolism of any nutrient never happened that quickly. Immediate absorption of nutrients was usually obtained through infusion into a vein. Why was this so opposite for this race?!

_One mystery solved, but yet, another begins!_ Beverly thought to herself. _But then there's the human mutant…He also has anemia, but seems to be responding somewhat to the synthetic transfusion; however, it's not an optimal response…I wonder…_

She walked over to the biofunction monitor near his biobed and told the computer to calculate his bone density. A minute later, the calculation was available. His bone density was extremely abnormal, indicative of osteoporosis which hadn't been seen since the 22nd Century. But before she allowed herself to become too concerned, Dr. Crusher put a theory to the test. Pulling up the bone density data of the many bird like aliens in her sick bay, Dr. Crusher could not remarkably similar percentages between this mutant's density and the aliens.

_Then why does he show up as _Homo sapiens superior_ when I scan him? What could I be missing?!_ Baffled, Crusher had the computer scan for duplicity in all of his vital organ systems. However, the computer stayed true to its original assessment of _Homo sapiens superior_, as his organ systems registered the same as any other human's.

_Could this man perhaps be a hybrid - a cross between the two species? And if so, does he have this same bizarre nutritional need as the others? Would it help him?_ She sighed. This was the most frustrated she'd been as a doctor in a very long time.

Noting that the blue beast was now content sitting with his companion, Beverly went to the blood supply, picking up a bag of AB negative. She wasn't sure if this ingestion tactic had to be type specific, or not, so she played it on the safe side. _What's the worst it can do, Beverly? We all know if a stomach has blood in it, it will throw it up. If he doesn't need it, just be prepared for vomit._

Her mind was set, she was going to take a stab at her theory and give mystery man this bizarre treatment, as he also was not getting any better through conventional means. _Bottoms up,_ she thought, trying to suppress her own gag reflex, as she made sure the blood slid down John Doe's throat.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Someone's hand was squeezing his throat. Remy fluttered his eyes open, momentarily, only to be reminded of the brightness of the lights. He clamped them shut to keep the searing pain of the light away. He instinctively moved his arm for his hand to meet the hand on his neck, and realized he couldn't. The strange barrier was on him, again. They'd obviously fixed it, much to his chagrin.

Rolling his eyes to himself, he started to consider the possibilities. He could try and charge the organic matter sitting on top of his windpipe, but then should it explode, so would his neck. Plus, he'd never charged organic matter before, so there was no guarantee it would actually happen anyways.

He gasped for air.

Confusion washed over him as there was no struggle to breath. The hand on his throat wasn't cutting off his airway. Another moment passed, and the hand tightened on his throat, squeezing it. Panic momentarily threatened to take over, but he was still breathing.

Remy started to take note of the sensations around him again. There was a thick liquid in his mouth. It tasted vile. And then it struck him! Someone was forcing him to swallow.

Swallow blood.

AB-...

_Merde_.

Remy sighed in his mind at the frustration of it all. His stomach started to rebel.

"Stop," it was barely a whisper. It barely made it past his lips. He could only pray it was heard, as he turned his head to empty his stomach.

Beverly Crusher immediately stopped. Okay, so maybe it wasn't such a bright idea, but he had been showing all the same symptoms as his avian companions. It had been a logical assumption. He also wasn't getting any better.

At least he spoke English like the blue, hairy man who was off helping the avians.

She grabbed the nearest bowl like container - of which there were not many, and gave it to him. Better out than in, she thought inwardly.

"I'm sorry about that," she said, helping him cautiously move without disturbing the equipment above him that held his pain in check. "It's just that you have many of the same symptoms as your avian companions."

After he finished puking, she carefully settled him back down, and found something to wash his face off with.

It struck her that this wasn't something she saw every day. They had cures for the common ailments. Things never really did get this far.

Okay, the man was a mess - his current injuries not withstanding. His knee needed replacing. Simple enough procedure, but certainly not life threatening like the remnants of previous cancer treatment substances they had found. This man had some major scars.

The other unconscious man also had some major scars but nothing like they found on the man who just puked. John Doe II had a visor like Geordi's made up of a quartz material found no where else except Earth. It was thick and red. Currently, it sat beside the bed on the table. He had cortical dampener keeping him sedated. It would be a while until he would be ready to be let out of sick bay.

But this man in front of her... he was certainly a mystery.

He certainly was allergic to a lot of medication!

"Sir," she tried to get his attention. "What is your name? Is there anything that may be able to help you that we are not aware of?"

After he relaxed a little, and the protestations from his stomach had subsided, Remy sighed. Too exhausted to even manage his powers, he decided that perhaps it would be best if he didn't use them.

The doctor was cleaning off his mouth and apologizing to him. She didn't need to be sorry, she wasn't wrong in her assessment. However, he looked human, which was probably confusing the hell out of this lady. Remy then resigned himself to the fact that he'd have to break his masquerade. His life hung in the balance, and as much as the laws were the laws, his life, as well as others' lives, were in jeopardy because of the silence the laws demanded. Although, he reminded himself, there were ways to fix the problem of others knowing about the true nature of Shi'ar nobility. And if any of them had any hope of getting better, this doctor would need a crash course in noble Shi'ar physiology.

Now she was asking questions. _Focus, Remy, focus,_ he thought. He took in an exasperated heavy breath. As if he had the energy to be making conversation. But it looked like he'd have to find it.

"Remy," he responded to her question, hoping it was audible enough for her to hear.

"Okay, Remy, I'm Dr. Beverly Crusher. Do you know where you are?"

Remy rolled his eyes internally. _Why do we have to keep talking_? "Non."

There was a pause on the doctor's end. She sounded pretty gentle. "Hmmmm." Remy could imagine her pursing her lips, even if he couldn't see them. "Well, um..., what is the last thing you remember?"

"Was on de Vin'car...we were attacked." It wasn't much of an explanation, but he supposed it was enough. He just didn't have the energy to go into much more detail.

"Do you know what day it is?"

Apparently, the lady doctor wasn't noticing he was loosing energy. He'd need to end this tête-à-tête soon. "Was May 5, 2007, last time I checked. But dat's Eart' date, not Shi'ar."

"Is that what your friends are called? Shi'ar?"

Remy nodded once in response.

Finally, the doctor must have noticed his fatigue. "Okay, that's enough for now. We'll save more questions for later." She squeezed his shoulder, maybe trying to comfort him. "Is there anything you need to help you get better?"

"Blood," his mouth was dry, as if fighting any effort to speak.

There was silence on her end. "B...but, you just...that didn't go so well the last time, remember?"

"A neg." He hoped it was explanation enough, as Remy could no longer fight the fatigue that was taking over.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

The man passed out again and Dr. Crusher had barely heard his response. Her other staff were helping the others and were paying no attention to her over with the mutant man. His eyes... they had been red of black she spied.

She walked over to the blood cabinet and handled a bag of A- blood. One of the avians, the only one that looked like a female, was watching her now as she took the blood away from where the avians were being treated.

"Well, Remy," she muttered to herself, "Bottoms up!" And she slowly began to pour the blood down his throat, making him swallow so that he didn't choke.

A few pairs of the avian eyes were staring oddly over her way as she looked back at them all defiantly. "He had the same symptoms as you all." Then she remembered they didn't speak English.

* * *

Hank wasn't all together too sure that he understood the method the Shi'ar had chosen to deliver the blood products to their fellow compatriots; however, he could not argue with the results it produced. All of them were improving and their vitals were stabilizing. Hank was beginning to see some of the quick recovery he knew the Shi'ar for start to emerge. 

He heaved a sigh of relief. The crisis was averted. Now Hank could go visit with Scott, which is what he originally came to the sick bay for. He draped the lab coat he had been given over the chair next to Scott's bed, and read the vitals on the panel displayed at the head of the bed. His vitals were good; however, a chart note indicated that he was being kept sedated. Hank mentally shrugged, not being able to argue with the medical logic being used, knowing it was for the better.

He looked over to Remy's prone form, concern forming a lump in his throat again. The 'Bête,' as Remy so like to call him, was quite worried. He knew Remy to be a fighter, but he just wasn't sure if he would be able to fight back from this one. He'd taken many serious blows in battle which just might hinder his ability to come back, this time.

But to Hank's amazement, this Dr. Crusher was speaking to Remy. Focusing his attention on the biobed across the room, Hank could see Remy's head moving. He was awake! Oh, thank the heavens! Now if only Hank could lip-read, he'd know what they were talking about. He saw the doctor squeeze his shoulder, supportively, perhaps signalling the end of their conversation, and very soon after, Remy's head rolled to the side, asleep.

Dr. McCoy stood up from his spot near Scott's bed, deciding that now would be a good time to relay Gambit's medical history to Dr. Crusher, but he sat back down again when it appeared she wasn't finished treating Gambit. So, Hank watched her operate, with curiosity, as to what her next step in treatment was. It would give Hank a good idea of Remy's condition if he could figure out what Dr. Crusher was doing to treat him.

The red-headed chief medical officer strode back to Remy's biobed with a unit of blood in hand. Hank knew Remy was anemic from the sheer amount of blood he lost from his injuries and resulting surgeries. Perhaps he was at the point of needing another transfusion. It wasn't so out of the question.

However, what was out of the question and had Hank bolting out of his seat but glued to his spot in horror was the fact that she started feeding the blood to Remy just as the Shi'ar had done to their shipmates.

"Oh, my Stars and Garters!"

* * *

Dr. Crusher was oblivious to the rest of the med lab as she held her breath feeding this man what she believed he had asked for - A neg. Her gut told her so, too, and her gut was something that she had learned to trust after treating hundreds of different species and coming out at the top of her class at Star Fleet Academy. She was Chief Doctor aboard one of the most prestigious flag ships in the Federation.

And it was in her medical opinion that this was going to help the man. After all, she had asked him what he needed.

She watched his eyes flutter open. She watched her scanners blip as the blood entered and then the blood disappeared.

Where the hell did it go?!

His eyes fluttered open. "More..." he said, his vision swimming.

And she did just that. Another bag she had brought was opened and poured down his throat just like the last. And finally she was rewarded with a smile.

"You gave us a scare there Remy," she smiled softly. "But you'll be okay. You're on your way to recovery, and your wounds are healing nice-" She looked at his vitals and they were remarkably improved.

"What the…?" she said softly, uncovering one of his wounds. Taking out her tricorder, she scanned the area. His cellular tissue regeneration had begun to improve it's rate making Beverly believe for the first time since this man arrived that he just might pull through.

"That's remarkable," she thought out loud. The man was pulling a similar stunt as the rest of the avians in the sick bay. Was he really homo sapien superior?

She performed the scans again and yes, he did scan as such.

_What the hell is__ going on?_


End file.
